


Lesser Evil

by YanderexBabydoll



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abuse, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Violence, Choking, Established Relationship, F/M, Jealousy, Murder, Obsession, Prison, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Spanking, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderexBabydoll/pseuds/YanderexBabydoll
Summary: “They said I could only visit one of you.”“And you chose me,” he states, straight, white teeth glinting under the low, fluorescent light. “Playing favourites, are ya, baby? Careful now, Omi gets jealous.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 216





	Lesser Evil

Orange doesn’t suit Miya Atsumu, but then again prison issue jumpsuits rarely flatter.

It’s hard not to fidget, waiting in that uncomfortable plastic seat while the guards cuff him to the table, shoving him down into the chair opposite you with a derisive scoff. 

“We’ll be just outside if you need us,” one of them grunts to you, and you barely remember to nod your understanding, trapped under the gaze of the prisoner before you.

He doesn’t say a word, not as the guards clear out, the door swinging shut and locking behind them. Dark, glittering eyes sweep over you; slowly, carefully.

You wonder what it is that he’s seeing. Your hair, shorter now than the last time he’d seen you and freshly dyed. The necklace at your throat – not the choker they’d given you all those months ago with the little heart shaped locket that lay nestled in the hollow of your throat, but a fine silver chain with a small, delicate pendant. Not nearly as expensive as their gift, but more precious to you than words could express. 

It’s an effort not to reach up and play with it now, especially when Atsumu smirks and leans back, getting comfortable.

You wonder if he can tell that your hands, resting in your lap, hidden by the edge of the table, are trembling, if he knows how nervous you are from the slight, unsteady bobbing of your throat as you swallow. He’s always been perceptive, and you’ve always been far too easy for him to read.

But you suppose that doesn’t matter today. 

Nothing he could possibly hope to learn in this room can be used against you, so you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down.

Atsumu’s shark-like smirk widens.

“Does Omi-Omi know you’re here?” he asks instead, that smooth, thick drawl making your heart momentarily clench. There’s no inflection there, no anger or hostility; he might as well be commenting on the weather, but you know better than to think you’re on safe grounds, even with the amusement dancing across his face.

Especially when you’re the reason he’s handcuffed to the table at all. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and sharp eyes track the movement. “No,” you breathe, relieved that your voice at least refuses to betray your nerves.

A single eyebrow cocks; your invitation to continue. 

“They said I could only visit one of you.”

“And you chose me,” he states, straight, white teeth glinting under the low, fluorescent light. “Playing favourites, are ya, baby? Careful now, Omi gets jealous.”

It’s an unnecessary reminder, but your stomach flutters uncomfortably regardless. It was an easy choice when they’d told you. Between the two of them, Atsumu’s always been the one with the hair trigger temper, but he’s predictable and you’d gladly take his explosive outbursts over Sakusa’s slow-building, icy fury any day of the week. 

But you can’t help but wonder, sitting across from him now, whether it was a mistake to brave either one of them. You didn’t have to come, hell, they’d advised against it – he’d almost begged you not to do this, not to tell them a word about it.

He and Sakusa, they can’t hurt you here, but that doesn’t mean that this isn’t a colossally stupid idea to begin with. And you know that, you _know_ that, and for the life of you you can’t think of a single, logical reason as to why you’re here.

Yet here you are. 

Atsumu, however, seems to take your hesitant silence in stride, “It’s been a while since we’ve seen ya. I was startin’ to think we’d scared you off, ya weren’t taking our calls or nothin’.” 

His words are another knife, wickedly sharp, eager to slice away at what little resolve you have left. 

“I–”

But you’re not afforded a chance to continue, “It hurt, baby, after everything we did for ya.” He’d almost sound wounded, if not for the glittering amusement dancing in his eyes. 

It’s a game to him, you realise as he leans forward, grin half cocked. Even here, now – even as you have a sinking suspicion that Atsumu knows _exactly_ why you’ve come after months of pretending they don’t exist – it’s a game.

And he’s determined to make every second of it as excruciating for you as possible.

“Ya can’t exactly blame us for getting worried, can ya? We know yer helpless, out there all alone without us.” It’s a struggle to tamp down on the indignation that flares up like a match struck, but you refuse to give him an inch more to toy with. “Did you honestly think after you cut that deal that we’d just let ya run around without keepin’ an eye on our girl?”

You still, eyes widening just a fraction. It’s confirmation of a fear you hadn’t dared to breathe life into. After the trial – not even a trial; a mockery of one. The entire thing was over in the blink of an eye, the judge handing out the sentence with a bang of her gavel; life sentences for both of them, no chance of parole – you were supposed to be done.

Not free, you weren’t sure that was possible anymore, but done.

Yet the calls hadn’t stopped, no matter how many times you hung up after hearing that automated voice start to speak. And then a few weeks ago you’d started to get that strange prickling sensation on the back of your neck at odd times of the day, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t put a name to. 

Somebody was watching you, and worse; you had the feeling that they wanted you to know it. You’d spent nights lying awake, tossing and turning in bed wondering how easy it would be for the two of them to call in a favour from behind bars. 

But if they’d wanted you dead, you would’ve been six feet under by now. 

“D’ya remember Suna, baby?” A vague recollection of an unimpressed looking brunette comes to mind, and you find yourself nodding as your heart thumps uneasily in your chest. “I asked him to check up on you every now and then, just to make sure ya weren’t doin’ anything ya shouldn’t.”

This was a bad idea, you shouldn’t have come, you should have listened–

“Wanna tell me why yer still hanging ‘round that piece ‘a shit rent-a-cop?”

Atsumu’s smile is dangerous now, poisonous, and you swallow harshly, risking a glance towards the door. The guards are just outside. You can call them and put an end to this in an instant, but you’d come for a reason, hadn’t you?

A clean break, though neither one of them deserved it. 

And all you have to do is tell him the truth. Tell him that you’re running away like a scared little bunny, hoping for a fresh start, _praying_ that you can finally close this awful chapter out.

Tell him that you’re leaving, and that there’s not a single thing either one of them can do to stop you.

Except now, sitting opposite him in this claustrophobic little room, you don’t feel nearly so confident in that belief. Because instead of that explosive rage you’re expecting, Atsumu looks almost delighted watching you shift nervously in your seat.

“Tell me, baby, what made ya think we’d ever left ya just run off on us like that?” he asks, his voice a honeyed drawl. 

Icy tendrils of fear sink into your heart, and before you can stop yourself, you’re shooting up from your seat and stumbling backwards. Your mouth falls open, your breath drawing in quick, but whatever words you’re trying to speak get caught in your throat as a loud siren starts to blare.

And sitting across from you, entirely at ease with the cacophony of sound and your own apparent panic, Atsumu only grins.

The door to the room bursts open, making you start–

But it’s only the guard from earlier. He glances towards Atsumu, sitting calmly in his seat, still cuffed to the table, nodding shortly to himself before his gaze swings towards you and he reaches out a hand. “Ma’am–”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his sentence, not as two pale hands reach out from behind and wrap around the guard’s head. The shriek that leaves your lips isn’t enough to save him, and you can’t do a thing but watch in frozen horror as his eyes widen a split second before his head is wrenched in the opposite direction, a sickening crack echoing out.

And then his body falls, crumpling like a marionette whose strings have been cut and out strides Sakusa, stepping over the guard's body like it’s nothing but trash. He doesn’t spare Atsumu more than a glance, dark eyes flicking instead towards you.

“Took yer damn time,” Atsumu huffs.

But Kiyoomi pays neither him nor the blaring alarms any mind. You can’t breathe, can’t move under the harsh, icy glare he sends your way. Where Atsumu had been content to smirk and taunt, Sakusa looks infuriated, eyes narrowing when he spies the necklace around your throat. 

“Y/N,” he spits your name like it’s a curse, and you can’t help but flinch.

He takes a step towards you, and you skitter backwards, ripping your chair out and clutching at it like it’s some kind of shield between the two of you. Sakusa’s glare deepens, and he opens his mouth to say something else, only to be interrupted by a pointed throat clearing. 

“Aren’t ya forgetting somethin’?” Atsumu says when you both look over, jerking his chin towards the metal cuffs still clamped around his wrists. 

Sakusa rolls his eyes, but nevertheless steps back to drop into a crouch by the guard’s body, his fingers delving into his pockets. There’s a flash of silver in the air, a faint clink as he tosses the keys, and you watch utterly frozen in fear as they arc and fall, a moment before Atsumu’s cuffed hand reaches up to snatch them from the air. 

Two seconds flat, and Atsumu’s rubbing his wrists, the cuffs lying open on the table, Sakusa drawing the guard’s pistol from its holster, spinning out the barrel to check it’s loaded, flicking the safety off.

And you realise as screams and shouts begin to echo down the hallway, that maybe you were wrong. Maybe they had too much pride to send somebody else to do the job. 

Atsumu’s standing now, pushing back from the table, Sakusa still by the guard’s body, lingering in the open doorway. There was another guard, you were sure of it, but nobody comes when you squeak, stepping back to flatten yourself against the wall.

You won’t get out, not with Sakusa blocking the only exit, Atsumu closing in.

“Any idea how long I’ve been waitin’ for this, baby?” he asks, eyeing your petrified form up and down, rolling out his shoulders to loosen up. 

Sakusa’s the one with the pistol, bearing it like an extension of his arm by the doorway, glancing down the currently empty corridor. Though you know better than most that neither one of them need a weapon to kill. Sakusa prefers his guns of course – quick, impersonal and clean, but you’ve seen first hand the damage that Atsumu’s bare hands can wreak. 

You don’t want to die like this, in a dingy, decrepit prison cell, Atsumu’s hands wrapped around your throat, your fingers desperately clawing at his wrists while Sakusa watches on. But you won’t beg, not for your life, not for mercy. You won’t give them the damn satisfaction.

“Miya, we don’t have time,” Sakusa grits out, and distantly you register the clamour outside growing louder, closer. Any minute now, and that hallway’s gonna flood with angry prisoners and guards.

Is it cowardly to hope for a quick, painless death? After everything you’ve suffered through, aren’t you owed that much at least?

You knew what it meant when you gave the cops what they wanted. They’d promised you safety from the monsters before you, freedom, a life that would finally be yours, and all you had to do was cooperate. But that was just a fever dream, wasn’t it? 

The moment you turned on them, your saviours turned captors, this ending was inevitable, but even so, you’d walked right in with your eyes wide open and _blind_. 

And all you can hope for as Atsumu reaches for you, his warm, calloused palm coming to rest on your cheek, is that he’d meant what he’d said the night they’d taken you.

_“Hey, hey, shh, calm down. We ain’t gonna hurt ya.”_

His fingers trail down your face, the rough pad of his thumb dragging along your bottom lip and you shudder, cringing back against the wall. But Atsumu’s gaze doesn’t shift as he calls back to Sakusa, “Not even a quickie?”

A _quickie_? Your gut clenches at the implication, a very real trickle of fear creeping down your spine, and you can’t help the wide eyed, frightened glance you shoot over his shoulder. Sakusa’s still by the open doorway, but as if he senses it, he risks a look back towards you.

Dark eyes impassive, he regards you, shaking like a leaf under Atsumu’s hold and he sighs. “Try it and I’ll take her and leave your ass behind,” he threatens. “We don’t have time.” 

Atsumu snorts, and crashes his lips against yours.

The kiss is brief, searing– 

You’re still reeling as he draws back, a wicked glimmer in his eyes as he laughs, “Sorry ‘bout this, babe.”

And then his hand is on your throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he yanks you forward and roughly slams your head back against the cool, brick wall.

—

Good girls do as they’re told, and they keep their damn mouths shut.

You know your role. You’re there to look pretty, to attend to his guests every need without complaint. You have no voice, no purpose beyond the one he gives you, no will of your own, not so long as he holds your family’s lives in his hand.

Good girls do what they’re told.

Bad girls end up dead on the floor in a pool of their own blood.

If they’re lucky. If they’re not… there’s plenty of customers with less than conventional tastes who’ll gladly take them off his hands. You have a debt to pay; he doesn’t honestly care how it gets settled so long as it does.

It doesn’t help that he’s taken a shine to you, that you’re paraded out in front of his associates more than the other girls. And you know that the trafficking is the least of his sins; drugs, guns, extortion, murder, he’s never made all that much of an effort to keep his dealings secret from you. 

It’s why you don’t so much as blink the day two handsome, well dressed strangers arrive in the parlour and are promptly stripped of their weapons by a butler. They’re hitmen, you gather that much from the snippets of conversation you overhear as you prepare their drinks. Names that don’t mean anything to you, mentions of some fancy gala, you let it wash over you, in one ear and out of the other.

It’s not your business. It’s better not to know. 

And you pray, as you set the crystal glasses onto a serving tray that they won’t pay you any mind, that tonight will be easy for you.

The moment you step into the room, however, you realise that it’s a foolish hope. The man closest to you, tall, his pale, porcelain skin contrasting strikingly with his dark suit, glances up at your arrival.

He’s possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, with thick curly hair the colour of midnight and lovely, delicate features, two small moles above his right eyebrow. Yet his beauty reminds you of poison, the glinting edge of a knife. He’s dangerous.

And staring at you.

For a moment, you almost fumble, your breath catching in your throat. It’s a miniscule slip up, but enough to draw the attention of your employer.

“Ah, pretty little thing, isn't she?” he muses, beckoning you forward with a single curled finger. 

A low whistle sounds, and your attention’s pulled to the final occupant of the room; the blonde who’d come in with the beautiful man. Though where his colleague is pretty, this man is arguably handsome, dyed blonde hair swept to the side, a lazy, indolent smirk across his face as he eyes you up and down, “Ain’t she just.”

Your boss’s grin widens, “You want her to dance for you? She’s rather exquisite when she does.” 

He snaps his fingers and your stomach lurches, but you know better than to disobey. Dancing is fine, you’ll dance ‘til your feet bleed if that’s what he wants, so long as–

“That’s not why we’re here,” the dark haired beauty snaps, tearing his gaze back to your employer as you gingerly set his drink down on the coffee table. 

You could almost kiss him, but the blonde pipes up before you can allow yourself to relax. “Aw c’mon now, Omi-Omi. No need to be hasty.” He appraises you one more time, “Why dont’cha come take a seat by me, sweetheart?”

He phrases it like a question, but it’s not a choice.

Or at least, it’s not _your_ choice. Hesitantly, you look towards your employer, your heart clenching at the faint flicker of irritation on his face, the muscle in his jaw that twitches.

But he nods with a jerk of his chin, and you force yourself to walk over to the blonde, not to shriek as he reaches out and grabs at your wrist, tugging you down onto the plush sofa beside him. You’ve been trained better than to wince as he drapes an arm over your shoulder and drags you closer to his side.

It’s better than his lap, you suppose.

Better than being forced to your knees. 

Yet aside from his fingertips tracing idle patterns along the bare skin of your arm, he keeps his hands to himself as the conversation returns to business.

It’s not until much, much later that you wonder whether he only did it out of a childlike desire to irritate your employer. Judging from the way he was still stomping around the mansion, muttering under his breath hours later, you suspect that it worked.

—

You learn their names soon enough. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi & Miya Atsumu.

They’re not hitmen, as you’d initially believed. Or they _are_ , but not the kind that you’re used to. 

For whatever reason, your employer’s afraid of them – he’d never admit as much aloud, but you’d like to believe that you’ve become good at noticing the little things, and though he tries his best to mask it, he can’t quite hide the way their presence sets him on edge. Their relationship is strained enough to begin with, and he believes that they like you – Atsumu at least, Sakusa’s always been harder to read – which means that whenever they do have business, he ensures that you’re front and centre. 

It’s both a blessing and a curse. For one, both men terrify you to your very core, though neither one of them have ever given you a reason to be afraid. You don’t like the calculating look in your employer's eyes whenever he brings you to them in increasingly scant outfits. 

Just like you don’t like the dark look in Sakusa’s eye when he catches sight of the bruise marring your cheek one afternoon, courtesy of one of your employer’s other _associates_. He’s never been as free with his touch as his partner, but he reaches for you that afternoon, catching your jaw in a soft, steely grip. 

“Something the matter, Sakusa?” your boss asks, his voice dripping with false concern. 

And you don’t dare to breathe as Sakusa studies the discoloured skin through narrowed eyes for a beat too long. There’s a voice in your head that urges you to flee, to run from that intense, probing stare – you don’t even realise that there’s a hand wrapped around your wrist, anchoring you in place.

“You should be more careful,” he breathes instead, releasing you to settle back into his seat, and you’re not entirely sure who he’s addressing – you, or your employer. It feels like strangely like a threat, despite his soft tone. 

Your boss just gives a dismissive laugh, taking a sip of his whiskey. 

Later, he pulls you aside and lets you in on some of the nasty rumours that follow those two – stories of the horrors they’ve left in their wake. Not just killers, he hisses in your ear, but _monsters_. 

“Next time, fix your makeup,” he croons, stroking your hair just once; a mockery of tenderness. “Or I’ll reconsider how we settle the rest of your debt.”

It’s enough to keep you awake for the remainder of the night.

—

Rapid fire gunshots rip through the tranquility of the balmy night air. 

Shaking like a leaf, you lie in the crawl space beneath the bed, your hands clamped over your mouth to stifle the sounds of your breath. Screams cut short, loud, ominous thumps following in their wake. 

It takes every ounce of control not to shriek when the door to the room is thrown open and somebody barrels in–

Two shots this time, not the same deafening bangs as before; quieter, silenced.

– The result is the same, the body drops to the floor, belly down, head twisted to face you. A wave of nausea hits you as you stare into the wide, terrified eyes of your employer. Not dead, not yet.

He gurgles something through a mouthful of blood, weak fingers twitching as he tries to reach for you. Slowly, black polished shoes enter your field of vision, stopping only inches from your hiding place, next to your boss’s prone form.

“Pathetic,” a familiar voice sneers. There’s one final gunshot and you’re forced to watch the spray of blood and brain matter as he slumps, the light fading from those glassy eyes. 

Somewhere else in the mansion, more gunfire erupts, and you squeeze your eyes shut and will yourself not to scream. You just have to stay quiet, stay silent and hidden and eventually–

“Come out, I know you’re under there, Y/N. It’s filthy. I’d rather not drag you out myself but make no mistake, I will,” Sakusa says. 

—

Your head’s pounding, a dull, throbbing ache that radiates through your entire being.

There’s a body moving atop yours, warm breath fanning across your skin, but your eyes are too heavy to open, and everything hurts. It’s hard to focus on anything but the burning pain between your legs, a familiar stabbing sensation as you’re stuffed full, stretched, fucked with a relentless, ruthless pace.

“Aw, looks like our princess’s wakin’ up,” Atsumu laughs. 

A hand cups your cheek, warm and smooth despite the callouses, soft– until it rears back and a ringing slap has your head snapping to the side. “Look at me,” the voice commands.

Blearily, you force your eyes open. Above you, face flushed, sweat beading at his hairline, Sakusa’s dark eyes are blown wide, his face twisted into a scowl. 

“Sa-sak–”

His lips swallow your weak protests, his teeth harshly nipping at your bottom lip, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. His pace doesn’t falter, smooth, muscular chest rippling as he drives his cock deeper into your unprepared cunt.

He can be gentle, sweet, even, when the mood strikes, but Kiyoomi’s fucking you like you’re nothing more than a warm, wet hole for him. It hurts, every thrust hitting too deep, his cockhead ramming against your cervix, his grip bruising as he holds you in place. He’s fucking you like it’s punishment you realise as he growls into your mouth, his fingers finding your throat, tightening as a pained whimper slips from your lips. 

And then suddenly he’s not kissing you anymore, and somebody else – Atsumu – is kneeling beside you, grabbing your face and twisting it to the side. “Open up for me, baby,” he grunts. You’re not given a second to prepare before he’s shoving his cock between your barely parted lips.

You almost choke at the sudden intrusion, but whatever sounds you do make are lost to Atsumu’s pleasured groans at the warmth of your mouth wrapping around his throbbing, aching cock. While Sakusa’s hips slap relentlessly against yours, Atsumu’s fingers wind through your hair, seeking an anchor as he forces you to swallow him down.

He doesn’t mind that saliva that spills over his dick, the tears that well up and fall down your cheeks as you struggle to breathe around his length, grinning down at you as he pants, “Yeah, that’s right. Take it like a good little slut, baby. Take my cock, suck it, get it nice an’ wet for me.” 

Your eyes widen momentarily, but you’re robbed of all thought as Sakusa suddenly hikes your thigh up against his chest, changing his angle and slamming into your pussy once more. With every pistoning thrust, his cock rams against that _perfect_ sensitive little spot deep inside of you that has you gasping around Atsumu, stars bursting behind your eyes. 

The soft, spongy walls of your cunt tighten and convulse around him, and Sakusa curses quietly under his breath, “Such a filthy little whore, enjoying this.” 

You’re still dizzy, breathless and aching, fingers scrambling for purchase on the white sheets as you’re fucked without care from both ends, whatever words he says next lost to you in the haze of pain and pleasure. 

And when Atsumu abruptly stops fucking your throat, Sakusa slipping from your aching pussy to roll over onto the bed beside you, you’re too out of it to do much more than whimper and sob when you’re manhandled between them, straddling Sakusa with Tsumu crawling up on his knees behind you.

“Kiyoomi, _please_ ,” you cry.

He ignores you in favour of lifting your hips, guiding his flushed cock back to your entrance once more. A shiver wracks your body as you slowly sink down onto his cock inch by agonising inch. Beneath you, Sakusa lets out a pleasurable noise, the muscles of his abdomen tensing as your warm pussy sucks him down.

“Please…” 

There’s hands on your ass, spreading your cheeks to reveal that tight puckered hole. 

“Yer not gonna leave us again, are ya?” Atsumu growls, his saliva slicked cockhead nudging up against your ass. With Sakusa already buried in your pussy–

They’ll ruin you. He hasn’t prepped you, you can’t take both of them at once, not like that. Your breath comes in a shuddering gasp, your whole body trembling. You can’t do this, you can’t let them, you can’t…

The stinging blow to your ass takes you by surprise, making you shriek and writhe as burning pain radiates from your backside – a warning – and quickly you shake your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

“No, no, I– please. I–I don’t wanna–”

With one quick, brutal thrust, Atsumu forces his cock into your ass, but it’s Sakusa who speaks, talking over your howling sobs as they begin to move.

“You will,” he promises, coaxing you down into a one-sided kiss with a hand cupping the back of your neck. “And you’ll thank us for it before we’re done.”


End file.
